Ourselves Again
by skyflower51
Summary: Obi-Wan's death was faked, but Satine didn't know that. He knows he has to tell her - but how do you deliver news like this to the woman you're not allowed to love?
1. A Holocall

**You know that feeling when a story idea invades your brain and won't leave you alone until you've written it? Well, this is one of them. I was rewatching Season Four and thought I'd just really like to see this scene - and what was originally going to be a quick oneshot mutated into a three-chapter story. It's set right after the _Deception_ arc of Season 4.**

 **I apologise if I make any mistakes, because I'm still fairly new to this fandom, and I also apologise to those waiting for me to write other things - I just _really_ wanted to write this before I lost the inspiration. It's partly me trying to get some practice in dialogue and thought tracking, and partly me just wanting to write something about these two wonderful characters. ****I hope I've done them justice, and I hope you enjoy! :)**

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OURSELVES AGAIN

 _CHAPTER ONE – A HOLOCALL_

The Chancellor gives the order for us all to leave, to convene again tomorrow. All around, the senators and delegates and representatives and planetary rulers rise to their feet, muttering to their aides, discussing today's events, double-checking their notes. Any repulsorpods that left their positions slowly scud back into place. The thousands of inhabitants of the Senate Arena begin to trickle out into the corridors. Another Senate session over. Another endless debate that decided nothing. Another discussion I felt separate from, removed, as if I could not fully hear anything that was being said. Or if I could not bring myself to care.

And I know it is wrong of me. How can I not care about what was being discussed today? The Chancellor, the leader of the Republic – openly attacked, almost abducted by the Separatists. At any other time, the thought would make every fibre of my being ache. The pointless violence of this war is threatening even the greatest of men. I do not agree with Chancellor Palpatine on many accounts, but he has led the Republic well and wisely – mostly - through this crisis. I should be outraged, horrified, at how close he came to being captured.

But I can't be. I don't know what's wrong with me. When it was announced, I was shocked; of course I was. And I was relieved when I learned that the Jedi had saved the Chancellor, and I was irritated as usual by how the Senate session called to decide how to respond was able to agree on nothing. And yet those emotions seemed somehow far away from me, as if they were being registered in some faraway corner of my mind. It is similar to how, if music is playing when you walk into a room, after some time you stop noticing it; you are always aware that it is there, but your mind does not dwell on it. And so it was with these emotions. Present, and yet unable to affect me.

I wonder if I have lost the ability to feel. Forever.

The life of a planet's ruler, of any politician, is a life lived in a den of wild beasts. One wrong move and those slavering jaws leap upon you and tear you apart. That is why I must always remain strong, act as if removed from others, not show what I truly feel, because only that will keep me from their grasp. But this… this is different. This is not a refusal to show emotions. Nor is it a refusal to allow them, as it is with the Jedi. This is an inability to have emotion. And I never thought even I could come to that.

I shake myself and rise from my seat. I must get past this. I must. What kind of leader am I if I cannot feel for others? What kind of person?

As I start on the route back to my quarters, I try to avoid meeting anyone's gaze. I don't want to discuss today's meeting with anyone. In fact, I don't want to talk about anything. I don't want to do anything at all. There is nothing I want except to have these last few days erased, to make it so that they never happened, so that they could happen again and happen differently. Happen _better._

To avoid the others' eyes, I fix my own on the floor, and so I almost walk into Padmé. I manage to stop in time, and look up so that I can give her the closest thing to a smile I can muster, and a murmured apology.

'It's all right,' she says with a smile, and then adds more quietly, 'How are you, Satine?'

The look she gives me is one of deepest sympathy. At first, despite myself, I feel a twinge of anger – I do not want pity. But almost instantly I change my mind. Most sympathy I have been given, from the few who know my grief, has been somewhat impatient; the eyes of my fellow rulers, especially those of my own world, have clearly read, _sorry for the death of your friend, Duchess, now please stop looking like you're on the verge of tears and help us dictate the terms of this new amendment to bylaw 643, you have a planet to run._ I don't blame them for it; they are right. I have work to do, and it comes above my own feelings. Besides, they don't know just how much I have lost. As far as they are concerned, I am just one of the many people who has lost a friend to this war. But in Padmé's eyes I see true compassion, empathy even, and I remind myself that she too has lost someone she cared for. A friend.

Only a friend.

I drag my thoughts back to the question she asked me. How am I?

 _I don't know, Padmé. I don't know. I can't feel anything. But I know that I am in pain. And I want it to end. But it can't end._

That's what I would like to say. And perhaps, were Padmé not a politician, and I were not the ruler of a planet, and we were not in the middle of a corridor crowded with government officials, I would say just that, or something like it. But no, even then I could not, because no one can know the feelings I concealed. That _we_ concealed. Even after what has happened, I will not betray him.

'I'll be all right,' I reply. 'I can't allow this to distract me from my responsibilities.'

Padmé gently places a hand on my arm. 'Losing a friend is never easy. Everyone will understand that. They'll know you need time.'

 _Yes, but how much time? How long will it take before I can stop feeling anything except this emptiness?_

With some effort, I force myself out of my thoughts, and with even more effort I prevent myself from dwelling on the word 'friend.' Padmé, of course, understands how I feel – she shares not only the same grief I carry now, but recently, I remember, she told me how one of her planet's bravest warriors – Tarpals, did she say he was called? – fell fighting General Grevious. No, it is not easy to lose a friend.

A _friend,_ Satine. Nothing more.

'I hope they will forgive me if I am not as capable as I should be,' I say heavily. 'But I have a duty not to let that happen. True, I have lost a good friend. But I remain the Duchess of Mandalore, and my mind must be on my people first. Above all else.'

 _So why isn't it, you useless excuse for a ruler?_

'No one can blame you for being distressed. Perhaps you should take some time off work…'

'I don't think that would help matters, Padmé,' I say, hoping I do not sound harsh. Padmé doesn't seem offended; she nods as if she had expected these words. After all, she knows as well as I do that in our lives, there is no such thing as time off work.

'I'm grateful for your concern,' I tell her. 'But… I will be all right.'

She moves back with a small nod, as if acknowledging that I do not wish for any further discussion, that I would rather be left alone. The smile she gives me is the pain-filled, encouraging one that people give to another when they are recovering from a loss. Yes, that is what I am. All I am. Let that be how the Galaxy sees me: Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore, who is a little distracted from her work after losing someone.

And let me be someone else on the inside. A woman like any other. A woman who, no matter how powerful the positions she holds may be, no matter what kind of cool exterior she presents, feels pain, and regrets mistakes, and grieves death. A woman who has lost someone who was more than a friend, more than a Jedi, more to her than life itself.

Subconsciously at first, and then desperately, I quicken my pace, until I am on the cusp of running. I want to go faster, I want to run, to not care about the surprised and disapproving looks that would be thrown my way, to not notice the droids who would lurch back to the edges of the corridor to avoid me, to not see the people around me or even feeling the ground beneath my feet. I want to be away from every eye that could ever be upon me, so that I can drop this façade and put on no invisible mask, make no pretences, just _be,_ so that I can make sense of what I feel, or do not feel. I want to run so that I can be away from it all, because I need to be alone, and yet I want to not be alone, to have him there, not gone, there –

And at last I am there, after a shuttle ride and a short walk, and the door closes behind me, and I can pull off the headdress of my office and collapse into a chair and finally admit it to myself. I cannot feel anything now except grief, and I feel that grief because Obi-Wan is dead, and I feel that grief at his death because I loved him.

No. That feeling, that bond, that… that love, it has not gone. It is still there. I know that much. And so I cannot say I _loved_ him. I love him. I've loved him a long time. I always will.

I know that life must go on, I know that I must attend to my duties as always, and I know that there was never a future for us both. But none of that eases the pain. _Pain_ is not a strong enough word to describe what I feel. It is as if some part of me has been torn away, and I am reaching for it, but nothing, nothing, will ever fill this gap.

Never in my life have I known emptiness like this. I've heard it so many times over these agony-filled days: _you're not yourself, Duchess._ No, I am not. I am not acting as I normally would, or as I know I should. I have very rarely let my heart rule my head. I can count the exceptions on the fingers of one hand – like that time on the _Coronet_ , with Merrik's arm around my neck and his blaster aimed at my head, with Obi-Wan gazing at me with the battle inside him clear in his eyes. When I knew that if this was the last time I would see him, I wanted him to know…

And now, like then, my head is giving way, because what my heart feels is too strong for it. Or rather, what my heart doesn't feel. Because it's the absence that hurts.

Obi-Wan. Gone. Dead. Taken from me. And so pointlessly. It feels so wrong. I always knew he was a Jedi, a warrior, that he would always live his life amid violence, that he was always in danger. I often reminded myself not to get too attached for that exact reason. But somehow, I always imagined that if he were to die of something other than age, it would be on the battlefield. That he would die for his Republic. Die for peace. Because no matter how much I called him a hypocrite – my stars, how I regret that harshness now - I always knew that was what he wanted. Peace, for all of us.

But he never saw it. And he died in such a… a feeble way. Killed by a sniper. Not in battle, but in the backstreets of Coruscant. For no reason. Not fighting for freedom and justice. Just there, and then not.

How is that possible? How is that right? And how could he have let it happen?

I didn't believe it, at first. When I was told… I was convinced that there must be some mistake. That Obi-Wan could never die in such a way. But when I saw his body…

I press my hands against my face, as if I hope that by blocking out the world I can block out the truth. Why did this have to happen? What was going through that sniper's head? Didn't he understand what he was doing, who it was that he was taking away?

I know the answer, and it just makes the pain worse. He must have known what he was doing. And he didn't care. Like Vizla and Merrik and Almec didn't care when they betrayed me. Like that Zabrak Sith didn't care when he murdered Qui-Gon. Like Anakin didn't care when he killed Merrik.

It shook me, seeing him do that. A reminder of what a good person can become. A warning of what a Jedi can do. And yet Obi-Wan did not do it. With so many lives at stake, and only my feelings holding him back, he did not do it. He would not do it. I think perhaps he could not do it. Why? Perhaps he could not strike an unarmed man – but then, Merrik _was_ armed, with the means to destroy the entire ship and everyone on it. Which leaves me with the only reason for Obi-Wan's hesitation being that he did not want me to think ill of him.

Because he loved me. Or did once.

I can hear him saying it. I have replayed those words in my mind so many times. _All right. Had you said the word… I would have left the Jedi order._

The exact words, the exact intonation. I hear them in my mind. I treasure the memory of that sound more than any wealth I could ever possibly possess. How strange that a moment so filled with terror should become so precious, should hold such an indestructible place in my memory.

Remembering those words, though, always brings pain. We knew where our futures lay: his with the Jedi, mine with Mandalore. We have duties. We have people depending on us. And even if I do not agree with what the violence of his life, I respect it. He fights for a good purpose, a purpose I support even if I cannot support the fighting –

No. He _fought_ for a good purpose. He _had_ a duty. There is no violence in his life, because he has no life.

I feel my face crumpling, and I don't try to stop it. Let the tears come. I will have no other time to shed them, because around others I must hide my feelings, be the ruler they expect me to be. The ruler I must be. The ruler I am, and will continue to be, no matter what happens. But why try to stop myself from crying now? Even at his funeral, I tried to cover my face, to muffle my sobs. Because I was under the eye of the Jedi there, and I could not let them suspect anything.

The Jedi. How different things would have been if he had not been one of them. The order that forbade us to be together. The order I wished I could ask him to leave.

I cannot help but wonder – what would have happened if I had asked him, all that time ago? I very nearly did. I was so sorely tempted. But I did not, because I knew how much it would hurt him. The Jedi order meant so much to him. To ask him to abandon that future he wanted so much, just because of my feelings… it would have been selfish.

Except it was not only my feelings. It was _our_ feelings. And it might have saved him.

I let out a wordless, strangled cry and slam my fist down on the table. Which hurts.

All those people were right. I am not myself.

But how can I not wonder if he would be alive now, if I had asked him to stay with me? And what would it have been like, if he had stayed? I wonder what Qui-Gon would have said. I doubt he would have been angry, and I am almost certain he would not have been surprised. But he would have been disappointed, if not in Obi-Wan, in the fact that he would never see his Padawan become a Knight. Obi-Wan would have had to explain to the Jedi. They would have made him feel ashamed of himself, of his choice. It would have cut him to the core.

But I would have had him with me as I rebuilt Mandalore. Perhaps he would have sensed the treachery in Vizla and Merrik and Almec where I could not. Maybe he'd have been able to stop Death Watch before it even became a threat. And how much I have wished, in these difficult years, that I had someone with me to help me – not as a politician, giving advice to the Duchess of Mandalore, but as a speaker of the truth, giving advice to Satine Kryze.

And then he would not be a target for that sniper. Obi-Wan Kenobi, General of the Republic, Jedi Master, would not exist. And so he would not be dead.

But it is too late now. I cannot turn back the years and make my choices again. And I cannot do anything to change the fact that Obi-Wan is gone.

I know it is not my fault. I did not pull the trigger, or hire the sniper. I did not know of the attack and could not have warned him. I was light years away when it happened, and could not have intervened. But I blame myself. It is illogical, but logic, like so much else that I usually have to hand, escapes me now.

Perhaps this is why I can feel so little, so much of the time. It confuses me and hurts me to dwell on my emotions, and so I've been blocking them out without even realising it.

I raise my head, and do something else that I would never normally do, namely wiping my face on my sleeve. A bad habit I thought I'd left behind as a child. I draw in a deep, shuddering breath. And I rise to my feet.

Outside the window, the speeders and shuttles pour between buildings, the silver lines they form stretching away into the distance farther than I can see. Lights glint and glow. Far, far below, I can make out the tiniest dots – people hurrying about their business. In and out of cantinas and shops. Stopping to talk. Reading the screens that display the day's news. I can see from here that they report the Festival of Light on Naboo, and the rescue of the Chancellor, and how Ord Mantell of all planets is a favourite to win the Galactic Cup. News that seems so important to them. And yet there is only one piece of news that feels important to me. Why isn't it to them, too?

Every light I see from this window is a room in a building, or the inside of a speeder, or a streetlight that illuminates the way for hundreds of people on foot. Every light represents at least one life in this vast planet of a city. Most of these people do not know that Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead. A few will never have heard his name. I expect many, if told, would not care. Some would celebrate.

Some would mourn. Some are mourning, or have already mourned. But they will recover, move on, forget. Life goes on.

It is impossible to see the stars on Coruscant. There is too much light from the city. But I know they are there. And those invisible lights, they stand for millions of lives, trillions of beings who never knew Obi-Wan, who would never mourn his death, who could never understand the pain I feel now. Who have never known the warmth that comes – came - with seeing him smile, or could picture the exact shade of blue that his eyes were, or find something other than Jedi discipline and dry sarcasm in his voice.

It makes me feel so alone. And it makes me wonder how one person's death can mean the world to me when to the world, it just means one person's death.

I turn away from the window, and, after a moment's hesitation, press the button to draw down the blinds. It feels almost cowardly, to isolate myself, to lock the doors and shut out the light, but I feel somehow more secure like this, when it is impossible for anyone to see me. I am a Duchess. I must stay strong, show no weakness. But when I can't be seen, I can let go.

I enter the bathroom, stand for a few moments in front of the mirror, staring at the face I see reflected there. No, this will not do. Anyone could call upon me at any moment – another politician, wanting to debate a matter in private, a droid to clean the room, a friend seeking company or to comfort me. None of these people may see me like this, the tear stains clear on my face and my hair rumpled from where I pulled off my ceremonial headdress. I have had my time for grieving. Now is the time to move on.

I do it slowly and methodically, pouring all my focus into each separate task, one by one, allowing my thoughts to concentrate on nothing else. Removing the heavy earrings and other ornaments. Untangling and smoothing my hair. Washing the evidence of my breakdown from my face.

I will not forget you, Obi-Wan. And I do not believe I will ever love a soul but you. But you understand, I'm sure. You always said that there is no death, only the Force. If that is so, perhaps you can see me now, and know how I feel. It is not that I do not miss you. That I will always miss you. But I must carry on.

The sharp ping from the holoterminal startles me. I let out a sigh – this is the last thing I need now. Mentally, I snarl at whoever is calling to leave me in peace, but the insistent pinging sound continues. I check the mirror. Well, I look presentable, at least. Not as dignified as I would like, but presentable.

Head high, Satine. Put on that invisible mask. Answer that call, face whoever it is. Speak to them calmly, as you always would. Show nothing. Be strong. You're still in the den of wild beasts, and you won't be leaving it any time soon.

Except now there's no hand waiting to pull me out of the den if I need it.

The holoterminal is still beeping at me. I cross the room. Breathe in deeply. Press the button to receive the call.

As the projector throws up its blue beam, I find myself half-hoping that I will see him. It's infuriating, how illogical my mind is being, for I almost expect to see him when I turn around after someone has said my name. Even though I know that cannot be, because I have seen his body and watched his funeral. If I'm going to be pathetic, I might as well be pathetic logically.

Which involves not seeing _this._ I'm not a woman prone to having her own mind play tricks on her, but this is too much.

I wait for my mind to behave itself, but it doesn't. It still shows me this.

But this is something I know cannot be true.

This is impossible.

This is something that makes my heart lurch to a halt, my breath slam to a stop in my throat.

Because the hologram I am seeing is a translucent blue figure of Obi-Wan.

 _That's enough, Satine. Pull yourself together. He's dead, there's nothing to be done about it. Stop imagining him here, or whoever's really calling is going to think you've gone mad._

I close my eyes, send a mental apology to my caller, and breathe in again, long and deep. I banish all thoughts from my mind except my need to answer this call. I open my eyes again.

And this time I feel my lips slowly part, and my eyes stretch wide. Because I am still seeing Obi-Wan.

No. This is not true. This cannot be.

I cannot turn my head away, I am frozen in place, but I flick my eyes from side to side, so I can be certain that I am seeing everything else clearly. The rest of the world seems to be as it should be. Everything seems normal, except I am seeing Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan is dead.

From the hologram, Obi-Wan watches me, as if waiting.

 _He died._

Unless… unless for once in my life, fate is being kind to me. Unless there really was a mistake, somehow, unless I didn't see what I thought I saw, unless there's a chance, an actual chance that he's still here, not gone, not taken from me, not dead –

A feeling. An emotion, an actual emotion at last, is rising up within me. Something that fills the emptiness.

I think it might be hope.

I stare at the blue ghost of him projected in front of me. He gazes back with a strange expression that I think might be apology.

And he speaks.

'Hello, Satine.'

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 **Well, chapter one is done, and chapter two is already written, so it should be up soon, after I've gone over it and edited it. If you're wondering about the title, it'll be explained in the final chapter. I'm sorry this was mostly one long thought process, but I do enjoy writing my characters' thoughts - and next chapter will pick up the pace.**

 **This was very hard to write, because while I've been trying as hard as I can to make both Satine and Obi-Wan in character, it's the first time I've tried to write either of them, and they're such complex people that it's not easy. Am I getting Satine vaguely right so far? Advice for improvement would be much appreciated! And t** **hank you for reading. :)**


	2. A Visit

**Hello, and thank you all for the lovely feedback I got for the last chapter, it's great to know you're enjoying the story so far! I hope I can keep it up.**

 **The little bit of Mando'a in this chapter came from the dictionary on Wookieepedia.**

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 _CHAPTER TWO – A VISIT_

This was always going to be the hardest part.

I knew from the start that this plan, this deception, would be the hardest on the people from whom the truth was kept. Perhaps, looking back, it was a mistake to keep it from Anakin. Remembering his anger makes a cold sliver of shame and anxiety settle in my heart. But there was never another choice when it came to the other people who knew me.

It had to be done, and I am glad I volunteered for this task. But all the same… it was a hard decision. I did my duty, as I always have, but that fact that I'll always do it doesn't mean I'll always like it. It did pain me, knowing what I would be doing to the people who cared about me. The only comfort was that I knew that once my mission was over, I would be able to tell them the truth. As I plan to do now.

It took a little time for me to be able to do this; we were asked to make a full report to the Jedi Council at the earliest opportunity. I must say that I felt more than a little self-conscious walking through the Jedi Temple and standing before the Council wearing Rako Hardeen's face. But as soon as that was done, I was able to go to the medical bay to reverse the nanosurgery. My face aches as if a gundark were sitting on it, but at least it's _my_ face again. The droids were even able to regrow my hair. I didn't even realise I missed having a beard until I'd got it back. I keep finding myself compulsively stroking it to make sure it's still there.

So now I am myself again, and the Council has given me permission to tell everyone that my death was faked. And that, of course, means that everyone who was at my supposed funeral needs to be told that the man they mourned still lives. Yoda promised that he himself would ensure this. But there are somethings you have to do yourself, and this is one of them.

By which I mean, this call, to this attendee of my funeral.

Why? Why do I feel that it's so necessary for me to personally inform Satine that I am alive? Why is it that with everyone else – Padmé, Bail Organa, my friends among the Jedi who were kept in the dark – I don't feel there are any problems with allowing the news to be delivered to them by others? I've asked myself that question a thousand times and the only answer I can find is that I don't like the idea of her being told by Yoda or Mace or someone else that I am alive, and then being left to wonder why I didn't tell her myself. She'd feel as if I thought she didn't matter enough to me. Most likely, she'll already be upset when she learns I didn't tell her I was alive all the time. Not telling her face-to-face would make matters worse.

 _Is that really the only reason, Obi-Wan? Because you don't want her to be angry with you?_

I don't want her to be any more distressed than she has to be.

 _Nothing to do with the fact that she might have any sort of special significance to you._

Why is it that even a Jedi skilled at blocking out their own emotions can't do the same for those irritating little inner voices?

I made myself dial in the number for her apartment's holofrequency quickly, so that I couldn't change my mind. And now I am waiting for her to answer. I wonder if Yoda or Mace has already given her the news – if so, this might be easier, and at least I have the excuse of the fact that I've only just regained my own face to explain why I'm late to speak to her.

Perhaps not, though. She might be unhappy that I grew back the beard.

At last, the holoprojector beam is filled by an image. And I see her, standing very still, looking back at me.

I'm struck instantly by her face. She looks haunted. And distraught. I'm so used to seeing her as her usual collected self that I am shaken. She is recognisably the Duchess of Mandalore, but she looks more human like this than she normally is.

 _Still as beautiful as ever._

Oh, stop that.

Her expression slowly changes from bemusement to pure shock. And I feel a rather strong twinge of guilt. How confused she must be.

'Hello, Satine,' I try.

She continues to stare at me, her mouth open a little. She seems incapable of speech. I see her shake her head slightly, blink, and move her lips as if about to speak, but at the last second, she bites back the words, whatever they would have been.

I decide to give her a few moments to gather her thoughts. I know I'd appreciate that in her situation.

' _Obi-Wan?'_ she chokes out at last.

I can't help but give a quick, rueful laugh. 'I am now, yes.'

I realise instantly that my words have only increased her bewilderment tenfold, and mentally kick myself. _This isn't the time for humour, Obi-Wan._

'I'm sorry if I've alarmed you,' is all I can say. 'As you see, I am, well…'

Before I can say _not dead,_ Satine cuts across me. 'Alarmed?' she echoes. She hesitates, then blurts out the thing that I know must be foremost in her mind. 'You _died!'_

'Well, not exactly.' I realise I am rubbing the back of my neck and quickly drop my arm – I only ever do that when anxious, and I really don't want to make myself appear too nervous. It's probably best if I just come straight out and tell her what happened, it'll be simpler for us both. 'My death was faked. The Jedi Council needed to send me undercover. I can't go into details right now, but… it was the only way to complete the mission.'

She still seems staggered. I swallow hard and try to work out whether I have told her too little for her to be able to understand, or given her too much information to try to process at one time.

'You're… all right?' she finally whispers.

I nod, and give her what I hope is a soothing smile. 'I'm fine. I've had a rough few days, but now everything's sorted out. And what about you – are you all right?'

She looks away and closes her eyes. I have a feeling she's desperately trying to work out what to say.

'I'm not entirely sure.' Satine clasps her hands together so tightly that if she weren't a hologram, I am sure I would have seen her knuckles turn white. 'I'm... confused.' She pauses. 'And surprised. Relieved. Possibly a little angry.'

'Well, yes, that's understandable.' Now I'm the one to look away and then turn back. Good grief, this is awkward. 'I expect you have plenty of questions, so I'm willing to answer –'

'I have no questions, only a request.' Her gaze drills into mine. 'Come here and speak to me in person.'

 _Oh dear._

This is also understandable, utterly understandable. A hologram can be faked. I've got into a few tricky situations because I've forgotten that fact. I myself would want to see a friend face-to-face in this situation. The trouble is that there really is no reason for a Jedi Knight to visit the Duchess of Mandalore's quarters this late in the evening. No _good_ reason, anyway.

 _Apart from making sure she knows for certain you're alive._

But it's not that simple. People will find it strange for me to leave the Temple now – after such a long mission, they'd expect me to want to stay here and rest. Which I do quite want to do. And yes, Satine is an old friend, but the Jedi are naturally, and rightly, suspicious of anything that could be, well, interpreted the wrong way. Attachment is forbidden, and with good reason. If I were discovered visiting her, it wouldn't take much for people to start leaping to the wrong conclusions. And then my place on the Jedi Council, my place in the entire Order, would be in jeopardy. I can't let that happen – the Jedi are my life, and the Galaxy needs me.

'I'm not sure I can safely get away…' I begin.

'If I was able to escape dinner with Pre Vizla to rescue you from being crushed by a grinding machine in an abandoned mining facility, you can take a speeder across a few districts to talk to me for a little while so that I know I'm not... I don't know, hallucinating.'

Her old fire is back, but I catch her voice trembling a little on the last few words.

I sigh deeply and try to work out whether it can be done. If I take a cloak and wear the hood I could avoid being recognised… and maybe, anyway, it isn't so suspicious at all. It makes sense for someone who faked their death to want to tell their friends they're alive. No one will question it too deeply, surely.

'All right. I'll be there as soon as I can,' I tell her.

'Good.' Her lips purse. 'Because I don't want to be mistaken about this.'

'I understand. And I'll explain everything, I promise.'

'See that you do,' she retorts, with a trace of curtness.

An ache runs through me. It's not that I'm hurt by her reaction, not at all. It's that I realise, looking at her, how much she has been through. I know that she still loves me. I would know even if she had not told me on board the _Coronet._ And as I know from having lost Qui-Gon, and later many other friends to this war, to lose one you care for is like taking a lightsabre through the chest. Agonising, and irreparable.

Oh, Satine. You've had more than your fair share of pain dealt out to you already. Your family and planet shattered by war, your allies turned against you, your vision of a peaceful future so hard to achieve. I wish I hadn't been forced to add to your troubles.

She's very determinedly not looking at me now.

'Satine?' I venture, and when her slight nod tells me that she is listening, I carry on. 'I'm sorry. For deceiving you, and for… any pain you have suffered.'

'Yes, well.' To my relief, she meets my eyes again. 'Aside from anything else, I don't think this is really a conversation that can be had over the holocommunicator.'

She's probably right.

'I'll leave now,' I tell her. 'I'll… I'll see you soon.'

 _I'll see you soon?_ That makes it sound as if I hadn't faked my death at all, but had just popped out to buy milk. Oh, what a master I am at managing this kind of situation.

'Goodbye for now, Satine,' I say, and when she nods again, I end my transmission.

Well, that's that. I can't back out of it now. Best to leave quickly and get back quickly before anyone can have any… suspicions. I hurriedly find myself a cloak, throw it around my shoulders, and leave my room.

The Jedi Temple is always quiet, but as night falls, there is almost a deathly hush. By this time, most of my fellow Knights have retreated to their own quarters, to reflect on the days' events, to meditate, to sleep. Or, if you're Anakin, to tinker with mangled and dissected droids until you fall asleep with your head resting on the chestpiece of a tactical unit.

That's if he spends the night in the Temple at all. I'm not blind, and I know him too well; I know where he goes, or rather, who he goes to. Somehow, it is never noticed, and he is never questioned. Perhaps I'm being overly paranoid, thinking my disappearance will be seen as suspect, if Anakin can get away with it so often.

 _No. Don't compare yourself and Satine to Anakin and Padmé. That's just... not a good idea._

It's some time before I spot anyone else, and when I recognise Plo Koon, an idea occurs to me. Instead of walking on past, I approach him, and he dips his head to me as he realises I want to talk.

'Master Plo,' I say, returning his nod. 'I was wondering if I might ask you a favour.'

It's always hard to gauge a Kel Dor's emotions, their breathing masks see to that, but his chuckle helps me. 'It seems to me that after your exploits recently, you in a good position to ask favours. How may I help?'

'I'm just going out into the city for a little while. To inform a few friends that I'm, well, not dead. I know Master Yoda said he'd take care of it, but…'

'This is something you want to do yourself. Of course. You want me to explain, should anyone ask where you are?'

'Precisely.'

He nods again. 'I do not think anyone should be troubled by your absence.'

 _I hope so._

I feel a little more secure now, as if my leaving has been made more legitimate. I thank him and take my leave.

It always takes some time to get out of the Jedi Temple; there are a rather large amount of steps. Perhaps it's something to do with reinforcing the importance of endurance and patience. But at last, I am able to get outside and find myself a speeder. The air is cool and refreshing, and the journey is long enough for me to have time to gather my thoughts. Which go, vaguely, as follows: Satine is going to be rather shaken up and fairly angry, while also relieved to find me alive. I think that by explaining, as much as I can, what my mission involved, should help reduce her anger. And once she is made fully aware of the situation, the distress should also be eased.

Which means this: I will have to explain everything, and gently. I will have to apologise, and very sincerely (which shouldn't be hard, because it will be genuine.)

I lean back in my seat, letting the wind stir my freshly-regrown hair, and have to smile as I realise how peculiar this is. I can face an entire battalion of Type 1 battle droids alone and unafraid. I have fought sabre-to-sabre with General Grievous and Count Dooku. I can even put up with Anakin Skywalker. But going to explain this situation to Duchess Satine Kryze… well, that's finally something that can daunt me.

The speeder reaches its destination, but almost as soon as I have left it, the way into Satine's quarters is barred by a pair of her guards. A clack echoes through the otherwise quiet evening as they cross their staves in my path. Ah – this was a complication I did not foresee, but really should have, now I consider it. So much for going incognito.

I decide I might as well pull down my hood. 'I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,' I tell them. 'I'm here at the Duchess's invitation.'

They lift up their staves. 'The Duchess informed us you'd be coming, one says. 'You may enter.'

'Thank you.'

Glances are swapped between them. It's hard to see from behind their largely face-concealing masks, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that they're wondering what in the Galaxy I'm doing here. I sigh and move to go past them.

'Forgive me, Master Kenobi, but we'd heard word that you were killed.'

I turned back, my eyebrows raising. I notice that one of the guards is giving the other a nudge. I think if I could see his face, there would be a lot of exasperation on it.

'That news was a trifle premature,' I reply. 'And now I've come to inform the Duchess.'

The guard who spoke eyes me suspiciously, adjusting his grip on his staff. 'If she knew you were coming, surely she doesn't need to be told you're alive.'

His companion gives him a light shove backwards, shaking his head. 'Sorry, Master Jedi. He takes his job too seriously.'

'Much better to be safe than sorry when the Duchess's safety is concerned,' I reassure him. 'I'll leave my lightsabre with you, if you want.'

'That won't be necessary.'

At the sounds of this new voice, both I and the two guards turn in the direction of the speaker and give shallow bows. And when I straighten up, I see her, silhouetted in the doorway, stately and dignified as ever, her eyes fixed upon me.

'Duchess,' I greet her.

Which really means, _hello, Satine, I'm pleased to see you, it's been quite a long time, and I'm sorry for what's happened, I hope I can make things right._

'Master Kenobi,' she responds, with a slight inclination of her head. 'Please, come in.'

I can almost see that she is wearing her Duchess mask, except in this case it's not as complete as normal. There's still a trace of something different in her eyes, something unlike herself, a flash of that uncertain, stunned woman who I holocalled earlier. It's like the twitch of an animal's legs that betrays, despite its stillness, its intentions to run for cover.

The guards move aside to let me pass, apparently convinced that if Satine is comfortable for me to carry a weapon in her presence, they have nothing to worry about. So I follow Satine inside her quarters, and the moment the door has closed behind us she stops and turns to me.

Neither of us moves for some time. She stares, and I try a smile.

'Hello, Obi-Wan,' she says, a little faintly.

During that year I spent on Mandalore with Qui-Gon and Satine, it was vital that I learn the basics of the native language, Mando'a. It made it much easier to work out what exactly the people attacking us were shouting to each other – I very quickly learned the words for 'kill that Jedi runt!' But one word that particularly struck me when I was taught it was that most simple of greetings – 'Hello.' In Mando'a, this is _su cuy'gar,_ and the literal meaning is, 'So, you're still alive!' It made me realise just how violent and unpredictable the life of a Mandalorian mercenary is, and how much warrior tradition Satine would have to overcome if she reshaped Mandalore according to her pacifist vision.

Why do I think of this now? Because Satine, while she may have rejected those old ways, is still a Mandalorian. And it strikes me that if she had used her people's language, she would have just greeted me now with the words, 'You're still alive.' Very fitting, given the situation.

'It's good to see you,' I tell her, and I mean it.

'Likewise.'

Almost the exact moment the word has left her mouth, her mask breaks. She's trembling in a very un-Satine like way, and as I take a closer look at her, I can see what I couldn't see in the hologram: that she has been crying.

'Satine...'

'You're alive,' she breathes.

My first instinct is to make some kind of dry comment such as, _yes obviously,_ but it wouldn't be a good idea, not with her in this state.

'Yes.' It's the most basic, but most appropriate response.

Her tormented expression doesn't change, and, feeling a sudden and powerful urge to comfort her in any way I can, I carefully put a hand on her arm. She looks at it as if it's a thermal detonator. But she doesn't shrug it off. In fact, she places her hand on top.

And I feel it then, as I felt it innumerable times during that year on Mandalore, as I felt it when I took her hand to take her out into Sundari the day we were reunited, as I felt it when her fingers brushed my face as she told me she wasn't sure about my beard. An odd kind of warmth, almost like an electric current passing between us, as if every fibre of my being is rejoicing in this contact –

 _Stop it. Stop it now, Obi-Wan. Stop thinking like that._

I don't need to remind myself to remember the Code, because I can never forget the Code. And yet I feel it would be wrong, and hurtful, to remove my hand now. So I stay put.

'I'm sorry,' she says, before I can speak. 'I know I'm putting you at risk, asking you here. But… I had to be sure.'

'I understand,' I tell her, for the second time this evening. 'I'm afraid my death was designed to be as convincing as possible. It would have endangered the mission had anyone been informed of the plan beforehand.' I shudder as I think of Anakin's attempts to track me down, not knowing he had mistaken me for my own murderer. 'Well, so we believed.'

Satine shakes her head. 'I'm not questioning that. I can't say I understand your Jedi business, but if you say it was necessary, I believe you. I don't have any questions about that.'

'You want to know why it was necessary that my death be faked in the first place.'

'I'm not sure what it is I want to know.' She turns suddenly, dropping her hand and moving over to the window. 'I just…'

She trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

I watch her for a few moments. She is standing with her head bowed, hands clasped together, and her back to me.

'This isn't like you, Satine,' I remark.

To my surprise, she laughs. 'Oh, not you too.'

'What?'

She half-turns her head, and to my relief I see that she is smiling, and with amusement. 'If I had a credit for every time in the last few days I've been told I'm not acting like myself, I could…'

'Be royalty?' I suggest.

She rolls her eyes. 'I don't know what I could do. I'm afraid I'm not sure how to finish that statement.'

I move over to stand beside her. 'I don't know how much you've been told about the incident with the Chancellor at the Naboo Festival of Light.'

'I heard that the Jedi put a stop to it.' I see her brow furrow, a sure sign that her mind is racing. 'I take it, then, that you were one of them.'

'Yes. I had to infiltrate the enemy, it was the only way to save the Chancellor. Unfortunately, it required… drastic measures to be taken to ensure that I wasn't suspected.'

She finally meets my eyes again. 'I'm not questioning that, Obi-Wan. As I said, I think I understand why you did it and why you said nothing. In fact, I… I admire your bravery. To do such of thing must have taken no small amount of nerve.'

Well, that's a relief. I was expecting her to at least throw a few of her imaginative insults or sharp-tongued comments at me regarding that. 'Then what is it that has you so…' I hesitate, trying to pick a word that won't offend her. 'Out of sorts?'

The look she gives me is almost pitying. 'I think you know that, don't you?'

Yes. Yes, Satine, I know.

We both glance away from each other. Her gaze travels to the rows of lights visible from the traffic outside the window, and mine follows it. We stay like this for some minutes, watching the patterns change and flow.

I know why she's so distressed. But I'm not sure there's anything I can do about it. Maybe all I can do is be here. Prove to her that I am alive, that she doesn't need to… mourn me?

Why is that such a strange thought? Her, mourning me?

Perhaps it's because it's such a strong emotion, grief. And blocking out emotions is such an important part of the way I live that even though I have felt grief, it's hard to picture another feeling it. Especially someone like Satine, who is unflappable, composed, and strong.

We're more alike than it might appear at first. Our ways of life both involve us aiming for peace, and resisting letting out our true emotions, for different reasons.

She turns abruptly. 'Might I make another request?'

I remember what Plo said, about how my recent exploits give me a right to ask favours. It seems like this is a similar case – I have hurt her, however indirectly, and so she has a right to make requests of me. Within reason.

'Feel free,' I reply.

She is silent for some time, but I can see from her frown that she is, again, thinking hard, most likely trying to work out what to say.

'I'm aware that you can't stay long,' she says at last. 'But while you're here, can we agree to speak to each other as people?'

She accompanies this with one of her serene, knowing smiles. I know these well; there's always a touch of pity in them, and what they really mean is, 'Any second now, you're going to ask me what I was talking about.'

I decide I might as well humour her, because I do require an explanation on this occasion. 'What exactly do you mean?'

'I mean that we both spend a little too much time being a Jedi Master and the Duchess of Mandalore.'

I blink. 'We _are_ a Jedi Master and the Duchess of Mandalore.'

'Those are titles,' she counters. 'How many times are you given the chance to be Obi-Wan? About as often as I am given the chance to be Satine.'

I consider this a moment, then give a small shake of my head. 'I _am_ a Jedi. It isn't a mask I put on, it's not a part of me. It's what I am - who I am.'

I realise too late, when her eyes narrow, that this could be taken the wrong way, interpreted as me telling her I think that's what the case is with her.

'And you think that my duty to Mandalore isn't who I am?' she snaps.

 _Ah, yes. Taken the wrong way._

'I didn't mean – that wasn't intended to be – I wasn't suggesting…' I shake my head again, this time rather more desperately. 'I simply meant that I've been a Jedi for so long that I wouldn't be myself if I were not a Jedi.'

Her expression softens. 'Yes, I know. I feel the same way about my own position. I have devoted so much of myself to it. It's shaped so much of my life. But what I meant was… we spend most of our conversations speaking to each other as a Duchess and a General. Perhaps it would be easier for us both if we abandoned titles, and the pretences that go with them, and spoke as people.'

And, belatedly, I realise what she means. That we're both so used to having to say the right things to the right people to ensure that we pursue our own goals in this war, so used to never saying exactly what we think, that we cannot do so now, when it matters most. I suppose that's the story of our lives – we argue until the situation's seriousness calls for us to abandon hostility, and only then can we say what we would like to.

'You mean,' I say slowly, 'that we're never going to resolve this matter if we keep –'

She cuts across me. 'What is there to be resolved?'

'Well, the fact that you're still… distressed.'

When she doesn't respond to this, I risk taking a step closer to her. 'Satine, tell me what I can do to help you.'

She gives a soft chuckle. 'Well, if you and I can talk for any length of time without arguing, or making sarcastic comments –'

'Oh, I think you're already straying into the grounds of the impossible,' I remark, smiling.

'Maybe, but I've seen the impossible accomplished before. Most often by you.' She closes her eyes. 'That is my request. Talk to me. Say what you think, not what you think you should say. Not as a General or a Jedi Master, but as yourself, and I will do the same.'

'And discuss what?'

'I don't know yet. But I think it will help.'

I breathe in deeply. Can I do this? Probably. Should I? Maybe not.

And yet… I am a Jedi. I have a duty to help people. I would have this duty even if I were not a Jedi. And she needs my help now, even if I don't know how to give it to her. I must do what I can to make her herself again.

And maybe it will help me, too. I've spent too long in another man's body, trying to think in the way another man's mind. Sometimes, when I used the words of Rako Hardeen, spoke in his voice, I wondered if I could actually become him. I will not deny that the idea worried me. Perhaps I will be more certain of who I am if I do this.

So I look into her eyes, and nod.

'All right, Satine. I'll try.'

* * *

 **At least, he will in the next chapter. Which, again, is already written, and will be up once it's been edited.**

 **This was very enjoyable to write, if (again) pretty hard - dialogue isn't my strong suit. But it's great fun to write any interaction between these two. I tried to get in a little of the snarkiness they usually have towards each other, especially with Obi-Wan since he's the master of sarcasm, but I didn't want to include too much because this is such a serious situation and I think they'd be taking it very seriously. Well, see you next chapter, and** **I hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)**


	3. A Conversation

**Hello, everyone, and welcome to the last chapter of this short story. One last author's note from me to thank everyone for their support and feedback, and for reading. I hope this chapter is up to scratch, as always any advice and comments would be much appreciated. It's been wonderful to write about these characters I love so much. :)**

* * *

 _CHAPTER THREE – A CONVERSATION_

He's alive.

The thought keeps bursting inside my mind, as if my memory worries I'll forget if I'm not given frequent reminders. But I won't.

I knew, I think, from the moment he called me, knew that he was telling the truth. But I wanted to be sure, I _needed_ to be sure. If I had been fooled once into thinking he was dead, then perhaps I could be fooled again into thinking he was alive. But any doubts I had vanished when I saw him in the flesh. I know him; the way he walks, the different gestures he makes and what they mean, the exact patterns of his voice when he speaks. I saw them and heard them in the hologram, but it wasn't enough until the man himself was in front of me.

I feel as if I have been given another chance. I'm not sure why. Things will never be different to how they are now. His life and mine, however strongly connected, will always be separate. You might say that him being dead would have made no difference.

But that would not be true, because it makes all the difference in the Galaxy. Even if we cannot be together, I still feel more alive, more like myself than ever when I am in his presence. It doesn't matter if we can never have more than this, these reserved conversations, respectful smiles, fleeting moments of warmth when we touch, all separated by months spent without seeing each other. I would not want to go without them. I am glad he came back into my life at the rise of Death Watch. I will never forget that this man taught me how to love.

So this is what I have been given, by him not having died. I have been given more time to experience, savour and remember these moments. And I have been given a chance to speak to him, without anyone else around for whom we might have to put up pretences, without anything in his code or mine preventing us from being honest. I know it might be just this once, and so I will try to say everything that must be said here and now. I must make the most of this second chance.

Which might be difficult, because I don't have the slightest idea what to say.

For now, I'm happy that I'm more composed than I was five minutes ago. And the silence between us, while somewhat expectant, is comfortable. I have offered him a drink, which he politely declined, and we are seated side by side on a sofa from where we can watch the Coruscant night falling, the darkness slowly creeping down the sides of the skyscrapers, dulling the gleam of the darting speeders. He is watching me with a patient, concerned expression, and I am studying my hands so as to avoid having to look at him until I have worked out what I'm going to say, and how I feel.

I don't believe I am angry with him, or the Jedi, for having deceived me. It was of course not meant personally, and it seems that it saved the Chancellor. And it was a courageous thing to do. I don't know all the details, but I don't need to, and I sense that he doesn't want to talk about it, at least not at this minute.

And to be honest, my relief at finding him alive far outweighs my frustration that all my depression over the last few days has been for nothing. Except it wasn't for nothing. It helped me see things clearly. And it led us to this conversation we are yet to have, which may make things clearer still.

Yes. Despite everything, I am happy. It isn't a fierce, bright feeling, more a sort of gentle, almost subconscious contentment. It's so good to finally be able to register my emotions, to feel something other than that terrible emptiness.

And this thought leads to another, which I would never normally say out loud. But I have promised him I will speak my mind. No reservations. One of us needs to start this conversation, and I think it has to be me.

'It's funny,' I tell him, looking up from my hands at last. 'Nothing has ever affected me like this before. I'm used to not letting pain damage me too much.'

He frowns. 'I assume you mean emotional pain.'

'Of course. I've lost family. I've misjudged many of the people I trusted. I've gone without sleep for weeks trying to find ways to stop the corruption and insurgency on Mandalore and I've never entirely succeeded. But when I was told you were dead…'

This isn't as easy as I'd thought it might be. Now he's the one to look at his hands. I can see that no response is forthcoming.

'Why is it I can withstand all the difficulties of governing a planet, and yet when faced with this - ?' I can't think of the right words to end the sentence, but there's no need; we both know what I meant.

'Because you're a remarkably strong person,' he answers. 'But to lose someone you care about, to recover from it… that takes a different kind of strength.'

'Strong?' I echo. 'Interesting choice of words.'

He looks surprised. 'Why is it? You withstood a war and some very powerful opposition to rebuild your world. Any other person would have lost faith long ago.'

'Determined, maybe. But really, I think I first embarked on this path because no one else was willing to do what needed to be done.'

'To hold on to that determination took strength.'

All right, we're not here to examine semantics. 'Which is partly the reason behind my _distress_ , as you call it. These last days, I have been… less than who I am. I found myself less able to care about things that would normally mean the Galaxy to me. I wasn't fully focused on my duties, and that made me feel even worse.'

'I felt the same after Qui-Gon was killed. Not like myself.' He sighs. 'It's a normal thing to feel.'

'Well, that much is clear. But even if I'm not a Jedi, I know it's something that needs to be resisted, if it clouds your judgement in such a way.'

'Yes, and that's part of the reason why the Jedi Code forbids attachment. To value one person so much that to lose them would make you forget the things that normally define your life – that could be dangerous. There are frightening numbers of Jedi on record who fell to the Dark Side after the loss of someone they cared about.'

There's another message in his words, an explanation, I think. He's telling me why he himself may make no attachments. But he doesn't need to do this. I have never held this against him.

'I understand why it's forbidden,' I tell him. 'I'll never question that. And I understand why the Code, and the Jedi, are so important to you.' For a few seconds, I hesitate, uncertain if I can summon the nerve to say what I want to now, but then I remind myself what the point of this entire conversation is. 'That's why, no matter what my feelings were, I did not ask you to stay with me after that year we spent together. I did not want to force such a choice upon you. And I do not intend to.'

There's a short silence, and I realise that despite my resolve, I have disguised the true meaning of my words. And I can see that Obi-Wan has noticed this too.

'I thought you said we'd be speaking our minds here,' he says, with one of those infuriating teasing smiles.

'I'm trying. It's not all that easy.'

'Yes, there's no need to tell me that.'

'I should think you know me well enough to know my meaning, even if I have trouble voicing my thoughts directly.'

'I believe so.' He swallows and turns his gaze to the window. 'What you're saying is that I don't need to fear you asking me to leave the Jedi.'

Which is as good as him saying that he never would. And that's all right. I already knew that.

'I know that it would be more than you could bear to lose,' I say carefully. 'I know Jedi can't form attachments, but you're not forbidden to love. And I know you love your way of life, because it is the only one for you. I know that you love your fellow Jedi, in particular your former Padawan. I know that you love being able to make a difference in this Galaxy.'

He dips his head, indicating that I'm right. 'It's good to know that by living, I have brought help to others.'

'And that is why you would never leave the order, and why I would never ask you to.'

The statement is blunt, perhaps, but I think it's accurate. He seems startled at my frankness, but to my surprise he responds by placing one hand on top of mine.

'And I'm grateful for that,' he says.

'And why is that?' The words come before I can stop them – I think perhaps I'm getting into the hang of this not-putting-on-pretences thing. Maybe a little too much.

He stares at me for a moment, and then looks away.

 _Why, Obi-Wan?_ I almost say the words out loud, but something stops me, so I whisper them in my mind instead. _Why are you glad I have never asked? Is it because you would not want to hurt me by refusing, or because you don't know what you would choose?_

I wish I could be sure about his feelings for me. He loved me once, a long time ago, I am sure of that. And he certainly cares about me enough now to have protected me from Death Watch, and from the plots of the Separatists, to have risked his life and his position to come to my aid when I was a fugitive from the law. But that doesn't equate to love.

'You know I would never normally say any of this,' I remind him.

He looks amused. 'Funny. You seemed perfectly willing to say it much more directly in front of Tal Merrik.'

I wave my hand. 'That was different; I was fairly convinced I was about to die. I suppose all I need to do to be able to say all of this, then, is to have someone pointing a blaster at my head.'

'I have a lightsabre,' he suggests.

That teasing smile again. And I can't stop myself from smiling too. 'I'm sure there's no need for drastic measures. I'll use my imagination.'

This, of course, hurls my memory back in time to when that happened, to when I was in Merrik's grip and at his mercy. I imagine his arm clamped around my neck, and picture the corridors of the _Coronet,_ and force the words into my mouth.

'You told me on board the _Coronet_ that you would have left your life as a Jedi for me, if I had asked you to,' I begin, speaking slowly so that I can think through every individual world. 'But I don't think you would do that now. Not for me, not for anyone. You've lived too long in a life you love, you've invested too much of your soul into it. And I know how that feels. I wouldn't give up the throne of Mandalore for anyone or anything. My people need me. And, as a Jedi, your people are the Galaxy's people, and they need you.'

I pause for breath, but don't give him time to respond. 'You worry for my safety, even if I attempt to stop you. You help me and defend me whenever you can. You've put your life on the line for me. It's… it's simply hard to know whether you do this because there was once a time when you loved me, or because that time is still now. Do I need you to feel for me the way I feel for you? No. Do I want you to? Even I can't answer that. Perhaps it would be better of me to not want you to, since then you would be able to devote yourself fully to your cause without anything that might even tempt you to break your code. I know I should want that. Maybe it's selfish of me to even wish things could be different…'

I get no further. Partly because all of this has come out in something of a rush, and now I really do quite need to breathe. Partly because my courage suddenly runs out, and I find myself wondering how I could ever have brought myself to say all of this. And partly because Obi-Wan has, while I've been speaking, taken my hand in his and placed his other hand on my shoulder. I stop, feeling a shudder run through me, and wait for whatever it is he will say next.

'I wish that too.'

Well, I wasn't expecting that.

I wait for a moment, running his words through my head again to make sure I didn't mishear. I have a feeling he's about to explain, and he does.

'By which I mean, I wish the Galaxy wasn't the way it is, that it could be possible for Jedi to form attachments – ' He stops abruptly, closes his eyes, and draws in a deep breath. 'To _fall in love,_ without neglecting their duties or risking those around them. I wish it were possible, for me and for everyone else. But it isn't. The way things are, we have to choose one life or the other. At least, I know I could never have both while staying true to myself. And when it comes to the choice…'

'The Galaxy comes first,' I finish for him. 'Your order comes first. I... admire that.'

He tilts his head. 'I thought you disapproved of the Jedi.'

'I disapprove of your way of life. That's no surprise to you, I'm sure. It seems to me that it's impossible for anyone to call themselves a peacekeeper and yet to live a life of violence.' I pause here, but hold up a hand to indicate that I haven't finished speaking; I know this is the point where we usually descend into argument, or at the very least debate, and I'd prefer to avoid that right now. Again, I choose my words carefully as I go on. 'I'm not sure I can ever fully trust the Senate that almost enforced an unnecessary occupation on my planet. Maybe I can't trust the entire Republic government. But I do have faith in the Republic itself, in the ideals it represents. And as for the Jedi as individuals, I can never deny your bravery, your wisdom. Your selflessness. That goes for all Jedi, but especially for you.'

He listens intently, but makes no comment until I end up complimenting him, whereon he instantly demonstrates why he's both the most frustrating and the most genuinely good person I have ever known. 'Well, that's hardly true. I don't have half the courage of Mace Windu, nor a quarter of Master Yoda's wisdom – '

'Oh, yes. I should have mentioned your inescapable modesty.'

He chuckles, and I feel the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile.

How peculiar that now should be the time when we are finally able to discuss this without a trace of hostility, without our usual attempts to force our ideas upon each other. I suppose it's because for once I have detached myself from the usual demands of my position. Or maybe it's not. Maybe it's because, after coming so close to losing Obi-Wan, I have finally realised just how unimportant our disagreements are.

'So.' Obi-Wan removes his hand from my shoulder – I'd forgotten it was still there - and gives his beard a stroke. 'Your issue with us is not so much with our actions, as with how we label ourselves peacekeepers but act like soldiers.'

'That's not entirely it. You know I disapprove of all violence. But certainly, it seems to me that you have grown… or decayed, from peacekeepers to soldiers. If this war ends, how can the rest of us be certain that you will return to your previous ways?'

At any other time I think he would give this a sharp retort, but he must feel the same way as I do about this situation, because he watches me closely as I speak, inclines his head when I have finished, and sits back, his beard-stroking becoming more determined. I think I understand now why he grew it – nothing says 'distinguished and deep-thinking' like a Jedi stroking his beard.

'I can't speak on behalf of the whole order,' he says. 'But I can tell you – in fact, I can promise you – that the greatest wish of every Jedi I know is to see this war over so things can go back to the way they used to be.'

I find I believe him. I have only ever properly met four Jedi - namely Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin and Ahsoka. As they are a chain of masters and apprentices, it makes sense that they would all share similar views, and so I cannot make any assumptions on the rest of the order based on what I know of these four. But Obi-Wan is an honest man. If he says the Jedi will abandon their places as generals and commanders once the war is over, I believe him.

If it's ever over.

'I still think this could all have been solved with readier negotiations from both parties before it ever began,' I say. 'But now it's here… whatever I think about your role in starting and prolonging it, I do respect the extent to which you risk your lives to protect others. I don't think I can ever call you peacekeepers, but I know peace is your aim.'

He smiles. 'And I respect you for being brave enough not to fight. Whether or not the term _peacekeeper_ can be applied to me, you are something far better –a peacemaker.'

'So I make something for you to fight for, is that right?'

'No. You make something that's worth fighting for.'

'Is it all those years deflecting blaster bolts that have made you so skilled at deflecting any comment I make?'

'Oh, it's just my natural wit.'

'I take back what I said about the modesty.'

The comfortable silence descends again, until he sighs softly and bows his head. 'And now suppose it's my turn.'

'Your turn?'

He lifts his hands slightly; the nearest, apparently, that he can come to what he'd consider such an uncivilised gesture as a shrug. 'Well, you were honest with me. I suppose I should be equally honest with you.'

'You've been honest.'

'Not quite to the same extent as you.'

He rises, and crosses the room to the window, folding his hands in front of him and bowing his head. He stands there, resembling nothing so much as one of the statues outside the Jedi Temple, until I go to join him.

'You don't have to say anything you don't feel comfortable saying,' I assure him.

'It's not that I don't want to say it, it's just that it's a little hard to find the right words.' He gives me a wry look. 'And if I didn't say it, it would defeat the entire purpose of the exercise, wouldn't it?'

Despite the light-hearted way in which he says this last part, I know him well enough to spot the shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. 'Obi, if it helps at all, you don't need to worry about offending me. At least, I don't think you do.'

He gives one of his amused head-shakes. 'We'll just have to wait until I say something offensive, then, and see what happens.'

I decide to remain silent for a while, to let him think. His eyes flick back and forth, following the speeders. Night has properly fallen now.

'It's a common misconception that members of the order are forbidden to love,' he says at last. 'But that, as you said, isn't true. And, well, it just wouldn't be possible. Being Force-sensitive doesn't stop us from being people. These feelings, they happen, no matter what position in life someone holds. And they're not a bad thing. What kind of carers for the Galaxy would we make if we didn't understand love? We'd be an order of… fairly cold people, to say the least.'

He watches the lights of Coruscant shutting out one by one for a few more seconds, then carries on. 'But of course, we're raised from infancy to resist clouding our judgement with emotions. So sometimes, it can be hard to show what we feel. And of course, it's safer for everyone if we don't.'

He rubs his forehead. 'To put it simply, Satine, I… still have these feelings, as much as I did when we were younger. I don't regret ever having had them. I've learned much from them… and you. I am not ashamed. I am saddened that things must be this way, but at the same time, I'm glad.'

And so this is it. The closest, now, that I can ever come to hearing Obi-Wan saying he loves me. And it's enough. It's more than enough. It brings a wide and genuine smile to my face at last, and I feel the last of the emptiness vanish in the wake of a wave of joy.

'You know that, as a Jedi, I can't, I won't…' He gestures vaguely. 'You know what I mean. Feelings are not forbidden; in fact, I'd call them beneficial. The same can't be said for attachment. It leads to jealousy, to favouritism, to caring for different people above others… and for a Jedi, those are dangerous things indeed.'

He turns to face me. 'I've often said, both to you and to myself, that we are friends. But I promised you I'd try to speak my mind here, and I will. The truth is that you mean more than that to me. But I can't act as if you are, because to do so would…'

'It would make you into someone you're not,' I finish. 'Don't, Obi-Wan. I don't want you to do that to yourself.'

The sudden understanding between us as we gaze at each other is so fierce and strong I can almost see it. There's a dryness in my throat and an aching pain in my heart, because I know what it is we have, in our own, roundabout way, agreed – that we can never be together and at the same time still be ourselves. And yet that quiet happiness remains, because this truly is enough for me. To love him, to know he loves me, and to show it only in moments like this. It will not be shown in any words spoken aloud, or in any actions we make. That is not how things can be for us.

It will be shown in what we do. It will be shown in the way we turn to each other for help and always receive it, without needing to give anything in return. The way we trust each other and believe each other when no one else around us can be depended on. The way that I will lead my people using the lessons I learned from him, and the way I know he will return to the front lines with my desire for peace in his heart.

That will be how we show our love _,_ even if we can never act on our feelings as other people can. I don't need more than this. In fact, it's better this way. If he chose to break his code for my sake, he would not be himself. He would not be Obi-Wan, the only person I have ever loved, the only one I ever will love.

It won't be a challenge for us to do this, because it comes naturally. It is who we are. It can be hard to see beneath the barbed comments, the arguments, the self-righteousness and defensiveness. But it's always there, and when it matters most, everything that hides it is forgotten.

The emptiness is gone. I can feel again. And what I feel now is peace.

* * *

How strange this is, that it should take something this extreme for me to really look at things the way they are. That I should have to die and become another man, live in his skin, and then return to myself, to really know the way I feel.

It's helped. My thoughts are clearer, and I think hers are too. Maybe I should die more often.

We spend the next ten minutes or so making much lighter and more normal conversation. She gives me the latest news from Mandalore, and informs me (with no small amount of frustration) about the recent failed peace negotiations that brought her to Coruscant in the first place. And I tell her as much as I can about the details of my mission. When I reach the part about how I have only just regained my own face, she tilts her head quizzically. 'So this bounty hunter, this… Hardeen person, has exactly your hair and beard?'

'Oh, no, I've just had it grown back. Droid nanosurgery. And before you ask, no, I couldn't have left the beard. I like it.'

'There's room for two opinions about that beard.'

'I'd never dream of suggesting that you should have any opinion other than your own. Even if I did, I wouldn't get anywhere.'

'And what exactly are you implying?'

'Only that you are utterly your own person, my dear.'

It's odd how easily I call her that, and always have. I've never given it much thought before now. It's a term I've almost teased her with, but in truth, she _is_ dear to me.

'Surely it hasn't taken you this long to work that out.' She glances at the chronometer. 'I don't think I should keep you much longer.'

'Yes, I probably should be going.' It will take some time for me to get back to the Temple. And I've been considering not going back for a little while. Maybe I will visit a few more friends – Bail Organa, or Padmé. It would be good to see them again. While it's late, they should probably still be awake. I have missed talking to people other than that band of bounty hunters. And even if they're not awake, maybe I will just wander around the city for a while. I feel… not restless, exactly, but not wanting rest.

Satine leads me over to the door. 'I'm sorry to have dragged you out here at such an hour.'

'No, I'm glad I came.' The coolness of the night air as the door opens presses against my face. 'Speaking to you was actually quite therapeutic. Never pretend to be a bounty hunter, it's… de-personifying. Not to mention uncivilised.'

'A grave crime indeed.' She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling again. 'Well, if nothing else, this has helped us to feel like ourselves again.'

'There is that.' I take a step across the threshold, then turn back. 'Will you be all right?'

'I'll be fine. Much better than I have been. Just so long as the Senate gets around to actually making a sensible decision some time soon.' She's silent for a moment; then she looks directly into my eyes. 'Obi-Wan…'

'Satine?'

'I'm more glad you're alive than I can possibly say.'

Of course she is glad. She thought she had lost me, and it hurt her. It would hurt me to lose her, too.

But this cold thought cannot linger in my mind for long. It's funny how words can warm the heart. All that time, worrying I would become the mask I wore, the bounty hunter, the Jedi-killer, feeling removed from who I was. Hearing this, her acceptance of me… it makes me feel like she, at least is certain of who I am. And so I too feel more certain.

And... is it wrong, that I should be glad she loves me? That there is still time for us to share our lives, for me to treasure his happiness I feel with her, even if it is only in this separated way? I don't think it is. The Code is right. Attachment can lead to suffering. But love itself? No, love can never be wrong.

'Yes, I say. 'I'm quite glad, too.'

I dip my head to her – the Jedi to the Duchess. 'Goodbye, Satine.'

She returns my gesture, her face that of the planetary ruler again – serious, composed, and yet with a gentleness that so many other people would never see. 'Until we meet again, Obi-Wan.'

It's not easy, to turn my back and leave her. It never is. But I have turned my back on many paths that might have been right for me, in order the follow the one that's right for the Galaxy.

The lights of Coruscant blaze around me. This side of the planet will be in shadow soon, its people asleep. These people don't care about the difficult choices I have to make. They care about me protecting them. So I will. It doesn't matter if it hurts me, because it spares them pain.

Yes, it hurts that I had to choose between Satine and the Jedi. But it's true, what I said. I will never regret having these feelings for her. She has taught me so much. About life, about love, about myself.

And as a Jedi, I'm always ready to learn.


End file.
